For those of you who haven’t gotten outside the house this week, it’s been snowing. Snow fell Wednesday night and then again today. It was a welcome sight. We moved here from Portland, Oregon in early spring 2006. In Portland, we averaged snow about four times a year. My boys had snowball fights and built snowmen. My brother-in-law, visiting from Seattle, once built a huge snowwoman that appeared to be lying on a beach and getting a tan.
However, since moving here, we’ve yet to experience snow…and my boys have missed it. Last winter, our first one in Atlanta, my boys often asked, “Daddy, when is it going to snow? When is it going to snow?” I always had to say, “Don’t know. Don’t know.” (Interestingly enough, I never heard a single word about the fact that they get to go swimming at the beach more than they use to do. It’s not that Oregon doesn’t have a beach. The water on the Oregon coast is just much colder.)
So, when the snows came Wednesday evening, my boys were excited. They looked outside, ‘Mommy and Daddy, can we? Can we?” Our answer…Andrew, you need to study for your math test on Friday. Christopher, it’s late. You’ve had your bath and are in your PJs. Both lamented.
“Can we have a snowball fight inside the house?”
My wife eventually went outside, got a bucket of snow, and put it the bathtub. Christopher put his bathrobe on over his PJs, made a huge snowball, stepped outside on the front porch, and launched one into the front yard. Satisfied, but only for a moment. Christopher asked if he could play in the snow before school the next day. We said, "Okay." It was funny. A kid who has to be dragged out of bed each morning before school rose early to spend 20 minutes in the snow.
And then today the snows came back. My boys dressed excitedly. They made two snowmen. They pelted their old man with snowballs. They slid down the hill on the side of our house with the kid from next door.
And, for a brief while, they no longer missed the snows of Oregon.